Wednesday, 13 June 2007

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance

The Boyhood of Raleigh

Celtic you have put me in the mind for some poetry, so we will kick off first with your welcome contribution by Rudyard Kipling.
The Stranger

The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind ,
But he does not talk my talk -
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock ,
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell ;
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell.

The Stranger within my gates ,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control -
What reasons sway his mood ;
Nor when the Gods of his far off land
Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be ,
But,at least , they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see ;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me .

This was my father's belief
and this is also mine ;
Let the corn be all one sheaf -
And the grapes be all one vine ,
Ere our childrens teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine .

Then I think we should have another Kipling favourite that hangs on the wall of the Chairman of the British National Party.

The Beginnings

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.

But I, in a melancholy mood shall go for something I first read in the Water Babies by Charles Kingsley as a boy. Now I understand.

Young And Old

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen,—
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down,—
Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there
You loved when all was young.

MrSmith has recommended the following by G.K. Chesterton

A Hymn

O God of earth and altar,
Bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter,
Our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us,
The swords of scorn divide,
Take not thy thunder from us,
But take away our pride.

From all that terror teaches,
From lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches
That comfort cruel men,
From sale and profanation
Of honour and the sword,
From sleep and from damnation,
Deliver us, good Lord.

Tie in a living tether
The prince and priest and thrall,
Bind all our lives together,
Smite us and save us all;
In ire and exultation
Aflame with faith, and free,
Lift up a living nation,
A single sword to thee.

And Harry has send us this:

Song of the Bow
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

From "The White Company"

What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew tree
And the land where the yew tree grows.

What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;
So we'll drain our jacks
To the English flax
And the land where the hemp was wove.

What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather
And the land where the gray goose flew.

What of the men?
The men were bred in England:
The bowman--the yeoman--
The lads of dale and fell
Here's to you--and to you;
To the hearts that are true
And the land where the true hearts dwell.

The Voice

The voice that whispered in my ear
In urgent tones precise and clear Said:
"God is hate and God is War
And God wants blood - so make it pour.
And if you sacrifice your life,
Leave behind your child, your wife,
You'll win for all eternity...
A place in Paradise. Trust Me!"

I packed explosives in a car,
Parked and waited near a bar,
Then watched the strangers milling round
Scream as thunder shook the ground.
Devastation everywhere... broken bodies lying there;
I'd brought them death, I'd brought them hate -
And won the key to Heaven's Gate.

But Heaven's gate I couldn't find.
Confusion, panic gripped my mind.
I searched and searched, but all I found was one
vast portal underground.

The Devil opened up the door.
I saw a hundred souls or more
Seated round in a fiery room,
Their faces wreathed in pain and gloom.
"Meet my bombers," Satan cried.
"Mine was the voice, the voice that lied.
"Join the dupes whose souls I've won -
"Deluded fools, every one."

Michael Shenton

Do you See?

Do you see the darkening of the clouds above?
Do you see humankind embracing hatred instead of love?

Do you see the darkness taking away the light?
Do you see evil becoming epitomised as what is right?

Do you see our children’s’ future dashed upon the rock of greed?
Do you see the forlorn poor with hands outstretched in need?

Do you see that there is no longer room for God?
Do you see the growth of corruption and the proliferation of fraud?

Do you see the old with labels do not resuscitate?
Do you see that their social liability sealed their fate?

Do you see the paranoia and fear that is abound?
Do you see where the origin of the source can be found?

Do you see the liars in their political nests of deceit?
Do you see you have the power to rise from beneath their feet?

Do you see, do you see, do you see?
If not open your eyes to reality.
Bridgend Patriot

O England!

O England! Where are your Hearts of Oak?
Those strong arms in service of thy country?
As your freedoms slowly die,
Boudicca's daughters stand silent.

O Wales! Will your Harlech Halls
Ring loudly with the baseless words
Of foreign folk and foes?
Far have Glyndwr's offspring fallen.

O Scotland! Will your banks and braes
Turn to bleak, unwelcome desert?
Unloved heath and heather dying
As the shade of Wallace weeps.

O Ireland! Such verdant pastures
Were never meant for alien temples.
Usurped by dark of heart and mind,
Boru's children watch mute or tamed.

Celts! Heed the clarion bell!
Saxons! Harken to the wild huntsman
As he rides across the fell!
Awake, Britons and secure this land!

By MrsJ


Felicity said...

Thats stirring stuff GA and reinforces the belief long held that we are happy within our own tribe or as swe Scots say "our ane folk" itsd why dogs, wolves hyenas stay in their own pack, hunt mate and thrive, its why elephants dont hang out with giraffes and different species of monkey and other primates defend their wee bit of forest from other troops. Sadly this hasn't filtered through to the Left.

Anonymous said...

Have a look at how the Sikhs have found the bottle to cope with this Islamic menace in Britain.
Are they simply braver than us or is it the fact they have darker skin which makes them braver?
Either way Sihk history is full of the persecution they and Hindu's faced from Islam.
They know of what they speak.

Anonymous said...
Do you HAVE to be a paedo to vote Lib Dem?
Seems an awful lot of them like young children and rent boys....too many to be a co-incidence. Was that party founded to cater for them I wonder and what type of person votes for them?

najistani said...

A snippet from the local news that doesn't seem to have been picked up by the MSM:

"A DOCUMENT advocating bombing nightclubs, mixed schools and churches was found on the computer of a terrorist suspect from Bolton, a court has heard.

The jury was told that the "chilling" terror manual also suggested assassinating Government officials."